


Heist

by indiavolowetrust



Series: Requests / Gifts [1]
Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Noir, F/M, Film Noir, Gen, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25090711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiavolowetrust/pseuds/indiavolowetrust
Summary: Noir AU. Satan had turned to a life of law and justice as a gumshoe detective, while you have turned to the high life of heists and thievery. In the middle of a jewel heist, Satan just so happens to capture you.
Relationships: Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader, Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Female Character(s), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Requests / Gifts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1817206
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44





	Heist

“They say you’re a demon, you know. All that anger in one neat little package.” The interior of the constable’s automobile is dark, even with the aid of the vehicle’s external lights, but you know better than anyone that Satan can see the smile beneath your mask. The tightening of his knuckles on the steering wheel is all you need as confirmation. “Just like your name, right? Always wonder why Mama called you that.”

His eyes flicker briefly to yours in the mirror, his gaze just as piercing as ever. “You’re not charming your way out of this one.”

“We’ll see.”

It will be approximately twenty minutes to the station, of course. Five minutes from the museum, ten minutes to pass the main street, and another five minutes to pull into the parking spot. Maybe another minute or so for him to wrangle you out of the car and into the station, depending on how much resistance you give him. Given that you’ve opted to go on a heist without a partner -- a foolish decision on your part, you realize now -- you’ll have to find a way to distract him for an extra five minutes. Should be enough for that light-fingered crow to figure out where you are, anyway.

And so you wait.

“That new uniform looks absolutely wonderful on you,” you croon, adding only the slightest lilt to the end of the phrase. You stretch out in the backseat of the automobile, and your feet meet the window. The cuffs don’t get in the way of that, at least. “Did you get a promotion?”

“No.”

“Just a change of wardrobe, then?”

“You know damn well I haven’t been promoted in a decade,” Satan nearly snarls, his verdant gaze flashing with irritation. “If you could just shut up, this would go a lot a smoother. A lot better for you, at least.”

You hum. “But where’s the fun in that? I thought you liked playing games. All that back there was pretty much just hide-and-seek.”

“We have to find criminals like you so we can bring about the peace.” His knuckles tighten once more on the steering wheel, and automobile swerves just slightly in turn. Your goading is working, evidently. “Hardly a game of hide-and-seek, if you ask me.”

“Huh. I thought you liked that game the best,” you remark. You play idly with the cuffs of your costume -- no, suit, considering its current usage -- and cast a sidelong glance towards the blond-haired detective. You catch his eye. Good.

“I didn’t.”

“Then what was all that crying when you were a kid?” you ask, teasing him further. “You used to be so much cuter back then with that little cat toy of yours. I almost miss you hanging onto my sleeve.”

His cheeks color slightly under the light of a passing street lamp. “I didn’t cry that much.”

“So all that crying was just a reason to hang onto me, then.”

“Sure.”

You smirk at him, your expression just visible under the partial disguise. “I thought cops weren’t supposed to lie,” you tease. You glance just outside the window, taking in the image of the main street. Ten minutes left. “Thought all of you were supposed to be high and mighty. By the books, you know.”

Satan says nothing at that -- either a sign of his growing irritation or his sudden surge to remain silent and not stoop to your low blows. Given his inherently wrathful nature -- he was always a snotty little brat -- you can hardly imagine it to be the latter. You feel the automobile make one of its final turns down the main street, its engine beginning to slow. If you can’t manage to incite his wrath, to throw him off his game, you’ll be stuck with a level-headed Satan. Namely, the more dangerous, efficient version of your childhood friend. The light of a street lamp flickers across the windows of the vehicle, and you begin to feel a surge of panic. The lock you’ve been picking with a hairpin won’t give itself away quickly enough.

Five minutes. You’ll need to think of something.

You pull slightly at the cat-shaped mask of your ensemble, tracing a tongue against the curve of your lower lip. You had made sure to paint it red just for this night. Satan stiffens slightly in the mirror, his gaze once more flickering away from you, and you see his jaw grit just slightly. Then there is the set posture of his shoulders, the white knuckles, the flush that has come to make itself known over his visage -- and a sense of victory begins to well up within you.

Satan is weak to you. Always has been, even when you two were kids.

The vehicle is parked a short distance to the station. He only traces the rather revealing contours of your cat-like suit for only a moment, his professionalism falling to pieces -- and then he forces his gaze to lock with yours, intent on not letting you have your way. Of course, that won’t be the case.

Never will be.

You walk in a deliberately slow manner, forcing Satan to slow his pace with yours. Blink slowly beneath your mask, your features only just barely shrouded by the disguise.

“You could’ve gone into the force like me,” he says, breaking the silence. His gaze tears away from you for just a moment, his thoughts preoccupied with what appears to be regret. You're close. “You could’ve broken the pattern instead of -- instead of doing this,” he continues. “I still don’t understand why --”

His visage has turned itself fully away from you. Now’s your chance.

You trip the detective in one swift movement, forcing him to stagger away from you, and use the free moment away from his hands to finally release yourself from the confines of the cuffs. They clatter uselessly to the ground. The detective lets out a soft groan as his back slams into the brick wall of a nearby building, his features contorting in pain. His body momentarily stunned in the aftermath. The light of a passing car begins to make its way towards the both of you -- presumably also towards the station -- and you immediately drag Satan into a nearby alley.

Still, it’s not enough. A quick glance tells you that Mammon -- that damned greedy crow -- has yet to find your location, much less arrive. You force a knee between the detective’s legs and a hand over his mouth, muffling his yells of protest.

‘Hush!“ you hiss at the equally irritated detective, furrowing your brows. “I’m going to get caught!”

Satan only struggles from beneath your vice-like grip, grousing a number of complaints from beneath your fingers. Struggling with enough force to nearly knock you away from him, the jerky movements necessitating that you adjust this way and that. The cat-like bodysuit that you’ve chosen to wear for the heist -- yet another foolish touch of theatrics on your part -- allows you a limited amount of movement, further hindering your attempts to keep the detective under your control. Unlike the adorable, sniffling child he used to be, the full grown man that he is now is much more difficult to control.

And so you decide to let go.

Satan’s face is completely flushed, his pale skin now beet-red beside his blond hair. “You -- you’ve already been caught, so just --”

_ God, he’s loud. _

You seal your mouth over his in the span of a moment, effectively silencing whatever noise he would have made to draw attention to your location. Taking away his breath. His eyes are still open wide by the time you close yours, the surprise evident on his features. It means little to you. You force your tongue past the barrier of his lips, exploring the inside of his mouth as you do so, and tangle your fingers in the blond locks. A measure of necessity, given his previous attempts to struggle away from your grip.

You do not know how long the kiss lasts, nor do you care. You only need to stall for time. Satan all but melts under your false affection, sighing into your mouth. You angle your mouth beneath his to deepen the kiss, further occupying his attention.

And then there is the revving of an engine some distance away from your position in the alleyway. Mammon.

_ Time to go, _ you think.

You push yourself away from Satan just in time to see the lights of Mammon’s car begin to make itself up the alleyway. Shove the hapless detective’s body even further into the brick. Again there is that gasp of pain, prompting his realization -- but by the time he gathers his wits, it is far too late. You only grin at him from the inside of Mammon’s vehicle before slamming the door shut, catching the pathetic surprise in his eyes. It is nothing short of satisfying: Satan is weak, as always. For as much literature he consumes, he’s just as easy to deceive as he was as a child.

There is only the vaguest hint of unfamiliarity in his eyes as you and Mammon drive away from the police station. It flashes across the verdant puppies for only a half-second, dissipating quickly into the hue -- but it is enough to draw your attention. Not quite vexation, not quite rage. Not quite irritation, not quite annoyance. Not quite any of those things that made Satan the wrathful little beast he is as a detective.

If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he looked disappointed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment, if you would like.


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